


Assam

by MaggieTulliver



Series: Tea Verse [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 08:05:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaggieTulliver/pseuds/MaggieTulliver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mrs. Hudson makes John tea...and scones because she's not your housekeeper but she cares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Assam

Martha Hudson stood in front of the battered door, balancing the tea service haphazardly between her hip and the wall with one hand as she knocked with the other. She listened carefully for a moment, waiting for any sounds of movement. She knew from all the noise—the endless pacing interrupted by sudden thuds—from the floorboards above that John had gotten very little sleep last night. But she couldn’t hear anything beyond the door now. 

“John? John, dear?” she called out, her voice wavering.

 

 

 

_When she had first heard of Sherlock’s jump, she had been unbelieving. After all Sherlock would never have done something like that. Perhaps before the doctor? But no, not even then—not even on his darkest days. But as the detective inspector’s pale grey face grew even more pinched and pained in the face of her disbelief she had found her certainty fading uneasily into a clenching knot of fear. Sherlock had never been one for self-preservation. Her insides had sunk swiftly, giving her vertigo for a short moment and though the detective inspector had continued to talk she had stopped hearing anything._

_Wasn’t it just like him, though? With his dramatic childish sulks. But really, shooting up her lovely wall? She knew the wallpaper was something of an acquired taste but really. She’d never be giving him his deposit back though she hadn’t asked for one in the first place. And the thought seemed to press down on her chest until she found it hard to breath. Jumping of a building. Sometimes he was such a child. Martha had had to close her eyes._

_“…John’s in the hospital getting checked out…”_

_“Excuse me?” Martha had interrupted._

_“he…he was there apparently. He saw everything. Sherlock called him, left him a note.”_

_Oh, the cruel, cruel, cruel boy. Martha could just shake him and shake him till he saw some sense._

_“He got run over by a cyclist in the mayhem and has a bit of a concussion. He seemed a bit…” Lestrade paused and ran his hand over his face. “We called his sister. She’s sitting with him at the A.R. I don’t know whether…whether he’ll be coming back here afterwards. But if he does, if you can look after him a bit…”_

_“Yes, of course”_

_After Detective Inspector Lestrade had left, Martha had had a good cry. She had always known that Sherlock would never grow to reach old age. But she herself was old and maybe just maybe he might have outlived her. And with the arrival of John she saw something she hadn’t ever really expected to see—Sherlock content and settling into a kind of hesitant domesticity and her hopes had grown. Perhaps Sherlock could be happy. She had imagined him, still skinnier than he really should be and with a touch of genteel gray at his temples, leaning slightly to the side protectively over the shorter figure of John as they carried on with their lives into a ripe old age. But it was not to be. Sherlock, the poor foolish boy, was gone and now John would be alone._

_And so Martha worried. She knew that Sherlock had grown to need John. It was obvious despite what Sherlock himself might have said. But she had no doubts that John had needed him just as well. And she’d rather not lose both her boys. She wouldn’t be able to bear it._

 

 

 “John, dear?” She rapped her knuckles a bit harder against the door.

She thought she could hear some movement and a low muffled moan from the flat and decided to try the handle. The door swung open easily and she had to scramble to keep the tea service from tipping over.

The flat was curiously empty. There was still the furniture of course, but where was the mess of scattered takeaway boxes and plastic bags, the scattered files and piles of papers, the beakers and vials? Where were the experiments? Even the bookshelves looked oddly lost and empty. More than half the books were missing and the empty spaces gaped like missing teeth. All of Sherlock’s things were gone.

In their stead, there stood, on the cleared floor, cardboard boxes, neatly taped closed

Martha stood staring at the sight for a moment before hurriedly setting the tea service down on the side table. She brushed her fingers against the scratched wooden surface. She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen it clear. It had always been buried under Sherlock’s papers. But it was clear now.

But where was John? Had he finally made his way back to his room upstairs to sleep?

She was wondering whether she should just leave the tea and go back downstairs when she heard a rustle and creak of movement behind her. She turned to see John emerging from Sherlock’s room.

“Oh, John,” she whispered. John looked tired. His shirt was rumpled beyond repair and his eyes were edged in red. She imagined she could see the world’s weight upon his defeated shoulders as he slowly made his way to the couch. He moved like an old man.

“Hello, Mrs. Hudson.” John gave a weary smile, his face wan.  

“I brought you some of my scones and tea,” Martha offered.

“Thank you. You…you are kind,” he replied as he folded himself carefully into the chair.

Martha took a seat beside him and removed the tea cosy to begin pouring out the tea. The steam rose up in fragrant curlicues from the gold-edged dainty cups.

“I see that you’ve been doing some clearing up.”

“Yes.”

“Milk?” She offered, her hand pausing over the creamer.

“Yes, please.”

Martha poured out a healthy dollop of milk. John certainly looked like he needed it. He looked as though all the color had been leached out of him.

“And what about Sugar?” she took up the sugar tongs.

“None for me, thank you,” John replied.

Martha gave him a sharp look. “When was the last time you ate, John?”

John shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

 “I thought so,” she said firmly as she picked out the largest three cubes and plopped them into John’s cup. She gave the tea a good swirl before handing it to him. John’s fingers curled around the handle as he brought the small cup to his chest. He held it there as if it was the only thing warming him.

Martha kept careful watch as she prepared her own tea. Milk and one sugar. She lifted the cup to her face and took a long sniff. The malty fragrance was like being wrapped up in a warm blanket. Taking comfort in the scent, she took her first sip. Perfect.

Martha glanced over at John. The cup was still cradled against his chest as he stared off into space.

“John?”

John blinked slowly before glancing back at her in faint surprise. Had he forgotten she was here?

“Drink the tea before it gets cold, John” Martha said gently.

John looked down at his tea in bewilderment for a second before bringing the cup to his lips for a sip. Martha nodded encouragingly as she sipped her own tea in silence.

After a moment she placed a scone on his saucer. When he only stared, she pleaded, “Just one, John. For me, please.”

He nodded and began to eat. She watched him carefully as he chewed carefully and washed each bite down with a sip of tea. When he finished, he brushed the crumbs from his face.

“That was good, thank you,” he said and gave her an unsteady smile.

“Have another,” Martha suggested and she moved to place another scone onto his saucer. But before she had reached the plate, John took a hold of her wrist and with a gentle press of his fingers, held her still.

“You know what’s strange?” he asked in a soft voice.

Martha watched his face carefully but there were no tears. Instead, John’s face seemed abnormally still and calm.

“I’m actually quite hungry,” John said, staring down at the plate of scones. And his face was still smooth but Martha could see his eyes widen. “Isn’t that ridiculous? I think I can eat this entire plate. I am so hungry.”

“Oh, John.” Martha gently placed her other hand atop his so that she held it between both of hers. She could feel a slight tremble going through his body. “It’s alright. It’s ok. Go ahead and eat them. I made them for you.”

John stared back at her in astonishment before letting out a short burst of laughter. She didn’t like the sound of it. It sounded different from before.

But Martha Hudson kept watch as John slowly worked his way through the entire plate of scones pausing only to top off his cup of tea. She had to boil another kettle of water before he had finished. 


End file.
